A report on the radio this morning talked about the financial hit the two back-to-back snowstorms laid on Baltimore and Maryland. It spoke of the cost of snow-removal, lost sales, lost wages and lost overtime and thus lost income taxes that would otherwise have come to the state, and more.

There is no doubt that all that is true, and should be considered so that proper responses could be taken to address any immediate needs and proper policies could be crafted to develop better future procedures.

But it also overlooks a huge piece of the puzzle, namely the impact of the storms on the quality of life. A front page story in the Sun yesterday talked about how neighbors who didn’t know each others’ names organized a brigade to shovel and transport the snow so that the street would be clear enough for cars to pass. Now, those neighbors are talking about organizing a summer festival, building on the greater sense of support and mutual responsibility they gained by their sweat equity.

A friend of mine in Catonsville hosted 25 neighbors at her home Saturday night in celebration of their surviving this mild natural calamity. The bonds of community were made a bit stronger by that gesture of good-will and friendship. And they built on the fact that over the past few days, many neighbors walked to a local store that most usually drive by to pick up odds and ends they needed. This was good for the local economy, and good for a sense of neighborhood and belonging. Everyone was commenting on how crowded the store was and how good it was to see everyone, folks they almost never saw during the course of a week or month or even year.

Due to the storm, a neighbor of mine lost several limbs from his trees (as did I). In the past, he would have called a tree surgeon to come and cut them up and haul them away. In an expression of neighborly synergy, he and I agreed that I could come at some point (when I can get better access to his trees) and take his downed limbs so I can chop them up and store and weather them for a year or two so I can use them in my wood burning stove. Everybody wins. Plus, I have corresponded with a neighbor that I have not encountered or chatted with in almost a year.

Then there are other benefits, tangible and not, from this storm. How many gallons of gasoline did we save by staying at home this past week? How much less energy did we use by having businesses stay closed? How much CO2 was kept from the atmosphere? How many hours did parents spend playing with their children? How many hours did children spend playing outdoors in the snow, experiencing the sheer joy of unstructured, self-guided, liberating play in the company of nature? How many home-cooked meals were prepared and eaten? How many families snuggled on the couch reading books or watching favorite movies? Or now, watching the Olympics?

How many people were able to slow down, share a bit of the magic of Shabbat that many of us enjoy every week, knowing there was no place to go, no pressure to show up, deadlines that were deferred?

How do you put a price on all that? For some of us, especially already hard hit by the recession, missing out on yet another day of work is indeed a hardship. But for many of us, missing a day or two of work is a reminder of a different way of life, a simpler way of life, a different set of values that just might be better, healthier and happier for all of us. More money is not the answer to all of life’s questions.

After the point of “enough,” when we pass into the realm of excess and indulgence, there is no discernible bump in happiness, satisfaction or other measurement of sustained joy. Indeed sometimes it is just the opposite, a slow decline in satisfaction that paradoxically urges us to even more intensive pursuit of empty, vacuous consumption.

Excess and indulgence take their toll on our time, energy, and creative talents (never mind the natural resources consumed in indulgent behaviors) with no discernible, and even possibly a slight negative, return on our investment. In any other realm, that would be considered grand waste.

It is time we change our national narrative. Success - both personal and national - is not all about money. After fundamental needs have been met, it is about health, time spent with loved ones, using enough but not too much, learning well, the joy of discovery, indulging in one’s curiosity, creating supportive communities, getting to know one’s neighbors, supporting local businesses, knowing and reveling in the local natural environment.

To change our narrative, and change our values, we must change what we measure. It is this very task that the state of Maryland is just beginning to explore. More on that in future posts.